Fic: The Carapace Histories
Sam learns to drive in Tupelo, Mississippi. It’s a birthday present. He isn’t supposed to learn for another year, but he can reach the pedals and the steering wheel and Dean thinks that’s good enough.
Dean sits in the passenger seat, gives directions and tips while Sam drives too slow and precise. Almost respectful.
“Remember Sam, cops suck.”
Afterward, Dean drives them to Dairy Queen. At the picnic tables under white umbrellas, Sam eats his Dilly bar and Dean smokes two cigarettes.
They’re both prepared to lie if Dad asks what they did all day, but it never comes up.
****
They’ve been driving for eight hours. Sam and Dad have been arguing for four of them.
Dinner is quiet. Dad pays for his meal only before sliding from the seat and thundering back to the car without a word for either son. Dean lays his last twenty on a dirty diner table. He’s getting tired of this shit.
“Sorry Dean,” Sam mutters, throwing his jacket on and heading to the exit.
Dean swipes a handful of dinner mints from the counter as they leave. “Sorry for what?”
Sam feels the pocketed envelope and swallows down some shame. “I don’t know.”
****
He sleeps through the majority of the ride. They leave Wyoming in the early morning. The sun shines white hot and bakes the interior with drowsy warmth. He crashes; face pushed up against the tinted window.
He wakes in Reno when Dean pulls into a rest stop to stretch his legs, but he stays in the car and watches his brother chain smoke by the soda machines. Sees him flick cigarettes on the pavement. Dean watches them smolder away.
They should arrive before dusk, in time to see his first California sunset. Sam can barely keep his eyes open.
****
When the road is smooth and effortless, he gets lost in the spell of driving. Every tree, field and mile he feels at his fingertips. Connected to everything inside and outside of the frame and four wheels. The car and him are kin. Family.
So when they hit, and the force pushes him so hard his left side smashes through the door, he knows with all certainty that he’s finally become the car. There’s glass in his mouth and he swallows it thankfully.
Then it goes dark.
When the light comes back he’s not the car anymore. He’s an orphan.
****
The heat has been cranked for over an hour but its still blowing cold. The coolant could be low, or the heater core’s busted again.
The heater is doing little against the chill outside. Things don’t work as well as before. It’s too numb inside his clothing.
He moves to adjust the thermostat, but Dean gives him an aggravated look and he removes his hand from the dial. They both know it’s not going to get warmer.
It’s broken again, plain and simple. Dean’ll want to try to do it himself. Save the money. But it’s not an easy fix.
****
They pack up the car for the last time. He has 300 minutes left.
They hit the Indiana border by sunset and Sam won’t stop fidgeting and Dean can’t stop watching his brother. Sam looks up and scowls.
“What?”
“Nothing.” Dean moves his eyes back to the road, slows down for the traffic light ahead and pulls out his cigarettes with one hand.
“Seriously, what Dean?”
“Nothing.” He lights one and inhales. “Remember that play you were in? The one in middle school?”
“Our Town?”
“Yeah.” He considers for a moment. “That play was pretty good.”
Another minute ticks away.
****
After he’s finished and done with it Sam leaves with grave dirt on his shoes. There’s no forward thinking plan beyond drive. Because he wasn’t expecting this.
Even though. Even though.
As he’s washing his hands in a Texaco filling station in Illinois, he decides to drive north until.
Until.
Instead, he keeps his eyes glued ahead toward the dark scenery outside. After passing the Iowa state line he finally speaks words out loud and doesn’t stop repeating them until his voice is gone and he reaches Montana.
I’m sorry
I’m sorry
I’m sorry
The first stop is a crossroads.
****
He closes his eyes tight and he sees her, polished in the sun. Gleaming and brilliant, roaring down some no name road laying the scenery to waste with her speed. She’s humming low and perfect.
And he’s in the car, fingertips swiping over the dashboard and steering wheel. The smell of leather and gun oil and stale fries.
Sam’s in the passenger seat, sometimes reading, sometimes sleeping, sometimes laughing and enjoying the ride with him. The way it was. The way it always will be.
But then the voices whisper, “Your car is ugly.” and cut out his eyes again.
****
Fourteen days after Dean dies, the Impala dies too.
“Oh fuck off,” Sam breathes in disbelief when it sputters and lurches three miles outside of Cedar Rapids. He gets it safely to the shoulder of the road and hopes it won’t be long until someone stops.
The air is thick with the smell of burning oil. The smoke leaking out of the hood reminds him of demons. Lilith. He removes the keys.
He should look inside, see the damage. But Sam doesn’t understand cars. Not like Dean. He thinks about promises wasted on dead men and waits for passing cars.
****
The seat feels strange under him. He squirms and settles as best as he can before starting the engine and pulling out of the lot. The gas and brake pedals give when he presses down and it’s been so long. Everything feels like riding a bike now. It should be like riding a bike. But this isn’t.
It might be okay if everything isn’t the same as it was. It could be different.
He throws a look to the rearview mirror and sees a pair of unfamiliar eyes.
“What the fuck are you looking at?”
He’ll wait for a reply.
.
~~~~~ Thoughts and comments are welcome and appreciated~~~~~
Dean sits in the passenger seat, gives directions and tips while Sam drives too slow and precise. Almost respectful.
“Remember Sam, cops suck.”
Afterward, Dean drives them to Dairy Queen. At the picnic tables under white umbrellas, Sam eats his Dilly bar and Dean smokes two cigarettes.
They’re both prepared to lie if Dad asks what they did all day, but it never comes up.
****
They’ve been driving for eight hours. Sam and Dad have been arguing for four of them.
Dinner is quiet. Dad pays for his meal only before sliding from the seat and thundering back to the car without a word for either son. Dean lays his last twenty on a dirty diner table. He’s getting tired of this shit.
“Sorry Dean,” Sam mutters, throwing his jacket on and heading to the exit.
Dean swipes a handful of dinner mints from the counter as they leave. “Sorry for what?”
Sam feels the pocketed envelope and swallows down some shame. “I don’t know.”
****
He sleeps through the majority of the ride. They leave Wyoming in the early morning. The sun shines white hot and bakes the interior with drowsy warmth. He crashes; face pushed up against the tinted window.
He wakes in Reno when Dean pulls into a rest stop to stretch his legs, but he stays in the car and watches his brother chain smoke by the soda machines. Sees him flick cigarettes on the pavement. Dean watches them smolder away.
They should arrive before dusk, in time to see his first California sunset. Sam can barely keep his eyes open.
****
When the road is smooth and effortless, he gets lost in the spell of driving. Every tree, field and mile he feels at his fingertips. Connected to everything inside and outside of the frame and four wheels. The car and him are kin. Family.
So when they hit, and the force pushes him so hard his left side smashes through the door, he knows with all certainty that he’s finally become the car. There’s glass in his mouth and he swallows it thankfully.
Then it goes dark.
When the light comes back he’s not the car anymore. He’s an orphan.
****
The heat has been cranked for over an hour but its still blowing cold. The coolant could be low, or the heater core’s busted again.
The heater is doing little against the chill outside. Things don’t work as well as before. It’s too numb inside his clothing.
He moves to adjust the thermostat, but Dean gives him an aggravated look and he removes his hand from the dial. They both know it’s not going to get warmer.
It’s broken again, plain and simple. Dean’ll want to try to do it himself. Save the money. But it’s not an easy fix.
****
They pack up the car for the last time. He has 300 minutes left.
They hit the Indiana border by sunset and Sam won’t stop fidgeting and Dean can’t stop watching his brother. Sam looks up and scowls.
“What?”
“Nothing.” Dean moves his eyes back to the road, slows down for the traffic light ahead and pulls out his cigarettes with one hand.
“Seriously, what Dean?”
“Nothing.” He lights one and inhales. “Remember that play you were in? The one in middle school?”
“Our Town?”
“Yeah.” He considers for a moment. “That play was pretty good.”
Another minute ticks away.
****
After he’s finished and done with it Sam leaves with grave dirt on his shoes. There’s no forward thinking plan beyond drive. Because he wasn’t expecting this.
Even though. Even though.
As he’s washing his hands in a Texaco filling station in Illinois, he decides to drive north until.
Until.
Instead, he keeps his eyes glued ahead toward the dark scenery outside. After passing the Iowa state line he finally speaks words out loud and doesn’t stop repeating them until his voice is gone and he reaches Montana.
I’m sorry
I’m sorry
I’m sorry
The first stop is a crossroads.
****
He closes his eyes tight and he sees her, polished in the sun. Gleaming and brilliant, roaring down some no name road laying the scenery to waste with her speed. She’s humming low and perfect.
And he’s in the car, fingertips swiping over the dashboard and steering wheel. The smell of leather and gun oil and stale fries.
Sam’s in the passenger seat, sometimes reading, sometimes sleeping, sometimes laughing and enjoying the ride with him. The way it was. The way it always will be.
But then the voices whisper, “Your car is ugly.” and cut out his eyes again.
****
Fourteen days after Dean dies, the Impala dies too.
“Oh fuck off,” Sam breathes in disbelief when it sputters and lurches three miles outside of Cedar Rapids. He gets it safely to the shoulder of the road and hopes it won’t be long until someone stops.
The air is thick with the smell of burning oil. The smoke leaking out of the hood reminds him of demons. Lilith. He removes the keys.
He should look inside, see the damage. But Sam doesn’t understand cars. Not like Dean. He thinks about promises wasted on dead men and waits for passing cars.
****
The seat feels strange under him. He squirms and settles as best as he can before starting the engine and pulling out of the lot. The gas and brake pedals give when he presses down and it’s been so long. Everything feels like riding a bike now. It should be like riding a bike. But this isn’t.
It might be okay if everything isn’t the same as it was. It could be different.
He throws a look to the rearview mirror and sees a pair of unfamiliar eyes.
“What the fuck are you looking at?”
He’ll wait for a reply.
.
~~~~~ Thoughts and comments are welcome and appreciated~~~~~